Midwinter Madness
by Shhasow
Summary: Neal and Dom are abandoned in their room as their parents go to the Midwinter Ball. Did they really expect the troublemakers to stay?  Alternatively titled: A Grand Adventure with Dom, Neal, and this little Tagalong.


Neal scowled fiercely at his smirking brother. After a moment, he thought better of his childish action and stuck out his tongue.

"Nealan," said his father in exasperation, his dark red hair groomed to an inch of its life.

"Well, it's not fair," he muttered sulkily. "Graeme's going."

Duke Baird rolled his eyes to the ceiling as if praying for patience to explain _yet again_ to his stubborn son. "As of last night, Graeme is a knight and is quite old enough to be trusted at a ball." Graeme couldn't help but let his hand drift down and lovingly finger his new sword.

"So?" Neal crossed his arms, completing the picture of an obstinate and fuming child.

"And I'm not?" his cousin Dom added, choosing the technique of injured innocence, his lip quivering slightly.

"_No_, both of you are altogether too mischievous and neither of you are coming to the party," Baird said firmly. "That's final. You will stay in the chambers and do something productive."

Neal groaned. Dom sighed pitifully.

Baird begrudgingly broke down, just a bit. "I will send a servant back with food, even though both of you ate well enough at dinner."

They perked up, both of their tummies rumbling at the thought of more food, especially the wonderful treats served at balls. They were special, those cakes and pies and chocolate and sweetmeats all drizzled with confectionary enough to send someone into sugarshock, especially if that someone was a little boy-

"Make sure to get those special meat pasties," yelled Neal through the closed door after his father and brother left.

"He'll probably forget," Dom said gloomily, throwing himself on the couch.

Neal sighed in agreement and stretched out in front of the merry fire. "At least tomorrow we get Midwinter gifts," he said dreamily. "I think Grandfather Haryse is going to give me another account of his exploits."

"And we'll both get lovely tunics from our Moms," added Dom as he lay face down on the couch, voice muffled.

Neal made a face and continued, "Maybe Dad will finally get me something useful, like books or a new sword. Say," he turned towards his recumbent cousin, "What did you get me?"

Dom didn't move as he responded. "A deck of cards, I think. What did you get me?"

Neal considered Dom, thinking that he looked much too comfortable. He rose slowly as he answered, "Can't much remember. You'll find out tomorrow."

Dom grunted. Neal crept silently, then pounced on top of him, shrieking shrilly and tickling with all of his might.

Dom howled in surprise and wrenched around to dislodge his cousin. Neal refused to let go, so they both tumbled to the ground, wrestling.

It was several minutes later that Dom emerged victorious, perched on the back of a red-faced Neal. He ground his face into the carpet, dodging Neal's flailing arms. Eventually, Neal ceased struggling, laying prone with his arms to the side like a starfish, albeit a gasping, cursing starfish. Dom gave one final flick with his fingers to the back of Neal's head, then swiftly jumped up and to the side, avoiding the predicable swing of a fist.

"Just give up!" Dom grinned. "You never could beat me, and you're a Meathead for just thinking it."

Neal sniffed prissily and finger-combed his hair. "It's not my fault you prefer to settle your disputes with brute strength. A real man uses his mind."

Dom raised an eyebrow. "So you're not going to the palace next year?"

Neal shrugged, leaning against the coach. "I'm going, but I can't decide as a healer or a page."

"I think Queenscove has quite enough knights," Dom said dryly, taking Neal's former place in front of the fire. "Neither of your brothers have the Gift."

Neal smirked. At least he beat his annoyingly superior brothers in that one respect, being the only son to inherit their father's strong healing Gift. Still, he was ten; he had to decide soon, but in the meantime, he turned the tables. "What about you, no glorious knighthood, obviously, but what do you want to do?"

"I'm a second son." They both made faces, being securely out of inheritance. "I can do whatever I want."

"I can't see you at the University, or the City of the Gods," Neal said pointedly. Dom wasn't exactly known for his scholarly ways or strong religious fervor.

"Don't really know yet. When I'm fifteen, I'll decide between the Riders or the Own." Dom didn't explain why he never went for page training. Being twelve, it was late but not immeasurably so. Knighthood just seemed a bit lonely to him, while the Riders and the Own had an aura of brotherhood, but he couldn't figure out how to decide between the two.

"When is that food coming?" he grumbled.

Neal said slowly and thoughtfully, "Why wait for it?"

"You want to just waltz down and pick up snacks?" Dom said scornfully. "In these clothes?"

Neal glanced down at their worn and dirty tunics. They would stand out like a sore thumb in the midst of all the peacocks at the ball, even in just the hallways. "No, idiot, I do have clothes here," he continued hastily as if it was always in the plans to change.

Dom considered for a bare second before agreeing. Anything was better than being cooped in the room being "productive," even getting a stern lecture from his uncle, that is, if they were caught. But that wasn't going to happen.

After a few minutes of arguing, copious insults of intelligence and paternity, and threats to return Midwinter gifts, the two were dressed in passable attire. Dom had won the brief scuffle for the green velvet tunic that was just a touch too small on his shoulders; Neal was relegated to an old puce colored tunic, which he picked at sorely. "It clashes _horribly_," he muttered, cursing his least favorite aunt.

"Shut up, Neal, we're getting food."

They ran over to the door, fighting for the handle. Dom, by virtue of his longer reach and strength born of age and training, managed to gain control, but swore when he couldn't turn the handle.

"Come on, you broken blasted piece of junk…"

Neal cleared his throat and smirked superiorly. "It's warded," he said with the tone of one imparting the world's secrets to the uninitiated. "But _I_ know how to get around it." He shoved Dom to the side and grasped the handle, hands glowing emerald as it slowly turned. He held the door open for Dom and jerked his head for him to go through before following carefully.

He grinned at his cousin. "Father doesn't know I can do that."

Dom rolled his eyes and grinned back. "I didn't see a thing."

They laughed, their voices echoing in the stone hallway.

"Let's go nick some treats!" Neal announced gleefully, as they set off down the corridor, joking and playfully shoving each other into the walls.

Dom stopped suddenly when they were a hallway away. "Wait," he said with a frown. "I thought I heard something, like a thump."

"You didn't hear anything, Dom, let's go before someone comes."

Dom cut him off with a hand, listening carefully. Quiet, they both heard the next quiet _thump_ emanating from behind a door.

"Mindelan," Neal read off the name plate. "That's a new fief, created just a generation ago, but I thought they were gone from Tortall. Baron Piers is the new Yamani ambassador," he explained to Dom, who stared blankly. Neal was the one who memorized fief members and occupations for fun.

Nothing hit the door while Neal was talking, but as soon as his voice ceased, the thumps started up in a fury. It sounded as if someone was pounding the door with both fists, and a distant voice sounded through the thick door, but neither could understand the light voice.

They shrugged at each other - figuring _why not?_ – and Neal reached for his Gift and opened the child-proof warded door.

A small girl in breeches and a tunic tumbled out, a scowl and an expression of relief warring for prominence on her face. Relief won out now that she was out of the room. "Thank you," she said politely, brushing her short brown hair away from her hazel eyes.

"Aww, it's a little girl," Neal cooed with a sarcastic laugh. "What are we going to do with her?"

The girl looked vaguely nervous and stepped back slightly towards the security of the hated open door. "Probably what we do to all little girls who interrupt us on our great important quests," Dom said in a low threatening voice.

"Boiling is too great a punishment," Neal said thoughtfully. "We could string her up by her feet."

"What do you say?" Dom crouched in front of her at eye level. "Do you want to hang by your toes and-"

The girl lashed out with a closed fist, landing right in the corner of his left eye.

Dom yelped and fell on his backside, covering his eye with both hands. Neal burst out into great uproarious guffaws, pointing at his hapless cousin bested by a girl less than half his age.

She glared at them both, fists raised in a boxing position.

Dom slowly rose from the ground, one hand still covering his eye, the other raised placatingly. "No more, please," he moaned. "My pride couldn't take being thrashed by you a second time." He lifted his hand away and tenderly poked at the spot, squinting in pain.

Neal held his sides as another round of laughs threatened to split them apart. "You already have a nice bruise there, Dom! I can't wait to see how it looks tomorrow."

"What, you're not going to heal it!"

"Nope!" Neal said cheerfully. He turned towards the girl. "I'm Neal, that's Dom, and I'm so glad to meet your acquaintance." He extended his hand as would a delicate court lady, as if expecting it to be kissed.

The girl's scowl finally cracked and she managed a slight smile, though she looked at the hand with confusion before she explained, "I'm Kel. I heard you coming down the hall and I hoped you could get me out."

"Your parents are at the Midwinter ball?" Dom asked, deciding the best policy was to ignore the bruise and hope that the pain would go away. Stupid Meathead cousin.

She nodded. "We're leaving for the Yamani Islands after Midwinter. They're saying bye to everyone, but they said I'm too young to go to the ball. My brothers are all there and my sisters are still in the convent." Kel scowled. Her brothers were all much older and too busy and important to take notice of their youngest sister. She shoved them out of her mind. This was Midwinter; she was supposed to be happy.

Neal nodded in commiseration. "My stupid brothers are probably with yours, and my younger sister is with her nurse. Dom here," he thrust a finger at him, "he's my cousin, and I'm in charge of him."

Kel nodded doubtfully. Dom punched Neal in the shoulder, a bit harder than strictly necessary. "I'm older," he informed her loftily as Neal winced dramatically. "Therefore, I am in charge of dear Meathead here, and I give you full license to order him around. It'll take both of us," he winked at her.

She blushed and looked down. "Well, so long as you don't slow us down, I suppose you can come with us," Neal said regally, his nose in the air as he turned on his heel to leave them both behind.

Dom tripped him, and Kel muffled laughter when Neal only saved himself from falling flat on his face by frantically wind-milling his arms. He glared at both of them and stormed ahead, muttering under his breath.

"Where are we going?" Kel asked Dom as they trotted after the sulking boy.

"Have you ever had the food they serve at balls?" When Kel shook her head, Dom sighed mournfully. "You poor deprived child… it's right delicious. We'll get you some; we snuck out for that very reason."

Kel shrugged, glad to be out of the room. It wasn't that the Mindelan chambers weren't nice, but Kel didn't like being stuck anywhere, not when her parents and brothers were off having fun, though at least she wasn't her sisters at the convent.

"You don't talk much, do you?" asked Neal when they caught up to him. "How old are you?"

"Old enough," she said evasively.

"You don't look more than seven," he said suspiciously. "You're pretty big."

"That's awfully polite of you, Nealan," Dom muttered. "Forgive Meathead, Kel. He doesn't think before he speaks. Actually, he doesn't really think much at all, which is why I gave him that nickname."

"It fits," Kel said innocently.

Neal groaned and shoved his cousin, as it would be poor form to push the girl. Dom was about to hit back, but the sound of merry voices reached his ears. They were close enough to the ballroom.

Neal realized it too. "I'm going," he declared to Dom. "More people know me than you, and since my parents are here they'll think I'm with them."

Dom stifled the automatic contradiction that jumped to his lips whenever Neal suggested anything, especially when done in that insufferable tone. "Fine, Kel and I are going to the old guard room."

With that, they parted, Neal slinking through the last hallways to enter the ballroom from a side door. Dom ushered Kel away, explaining that the old guard room once had been used in the time of the Old King but was now a storage space for old equipment.

It was close and they arrived soon. Kel was amazed at the variety of odds and ends; swords, axes, lances, spears, and others she could not name hung on the wall, suits of armor decorated a few dummies strewn across the room. Daggers and more swords filled wooden racks, along with shields emblazoned with different heraldic devices, usually but not exclusively the royal seal.

Kel wandered through the large room, fascinated with the devices on the shields. She stopped before one with the royal seal and ran a small finger over the proud gold eagle. Dom looked over her shoulder. "Ah, the proud _gules, an eagle Or wings addorsed_," he noted. "That is, a profile of a gold eagle with spread wings on a red field." He flushed at Kel's impressed look. "I'm a very boring person," Dom assured her. "Neal is even worse than me."

Kel moved on, then stopped at a shield she had never seen before of a flame on a white background. "What's this?"

He peered at it in confusion, then excitement. "_Argent, fire Gules_, but you see these two lines?" he pointed to thin red and black lines running around the border. "Those are a distaff border. This knight was a Lady."

She gazed at it with awe, tracing the lines with her finger. "A Lady Knight." Kel looked up to see Dom eyeing her. "What?"

Before Dom could answer, the door banged open and a laden Neal stumbled in, arms full of treats. "Come and grab them before I drop something!" he yelled.

Dom and Kel rushed over and freed Neal from his preciously-won spoils of war. Soon enough, they sat on barrels and munched hungrily. "You were right, Dom, this is delicious," Kel said with relish as she bit into her second meat pasty, a frosted cake in her other hand begging to be devoured.

Neal coughed, and Kel shot him an amused glance. "Thank you very much, Neal," she said with utmost decorum.

"Yeah, thanks Meathead," Dom garbled, mouth full of piping hot turnover.

"That's not all I picked up." Neal reached with one hand under his tunic to one side and pulled out a bottle of wine previously trapped against his body. "I swiped drinks, too."

"Now I know why you're my favorite cousin!" Dom crowed as he stuffed the remainder of the turnover in his mouth and reached for the bottle.

"What was that?" Neal taunted as he clambered on top of his barrel, holding the wine high. "I thought I was Meathead."

Dom jumped for the bottle, but Neal was just tall enough to keep it out of his reach. He swallowed his pride. "Neal, you are the best cousin I could ever ask for, and I sincerely apologize for any name-calling. It was done in jest and fun, not seriously."

Neal's arms inadvertently lowered as he goggled at Dom, who took advantage of his cousin's state to swipe the bottle gleefully. "I take back everything," Dom informed Neal over his sputtering curses.

The older cousin took out his belt-knife and worried the top open until it loosened enough to shot off somewhere into the room. "I suppose we'll have to finish it now," he said mournfully before he took a large swig. "Wow, fine stuff, great job Meathead."

Neal snatched the bottle away and took his own drink, smacking his lips. "Kel, do you want some?"

Kel went red. "Well, I don't know…"

"Come on, my eight-year-old sister drinks a bit of wine at dinner, and you're nearly eight, right?"

Kel muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Five."

Dom and Neal looked at her in amazement. "But, you're Jessamine's size," gaped Neal. "You're really big for your age!"

"And well-spoken," Dom added in a hurry, shooting a swift look at his unthinking cousin.

Kel shrugged in embarrassment. "That's what my sisters say, well, the first part. That I'm big, not that I'm well-spoken. I didn't want to tell you in case you wouldn't let me go with you."

Neal just shook his head in amazement and toasted her before he drank again, "To the oldest five-year-old I know!" Dom heartily agreed and stole the bottle to toast her as well. Kel couldn't help but laugh.

Before long, the bottle was half-gone, the majority gulped by Neal who still nursed the remainder. Kel, who had caved enough to take a few small sips, resumed her examination of the equipment in the room.

"Hey Kel, come here," called Dom from another area in the room. He had drunk enough just to feel light-headed and relaxed. When Kel dutifully appeared, he shoved a small mail shirt in her direction, which she put on with no complaint. He then handed her a short sword and picked up one of his own. "You know how to handle this?"

Kel shook her head, picking at the heavy mail with one hand and wrapping her other fingers around the worn handle.

"All noblemen learn how to fence early," he said as he explained the most basic drill, starting with high strikes and blocks.

Neal watched them from atop the highest barrel in the room, shaking his head. "Barbarians," he sneered at them as he drank again. "Mind over muscle, every time."

He was so absorbed in watching them – Kel was awkward but learning quicker than he had at her age, Neal considered ruefully - that he almost missed the door opening again, though he paled considerably when he recognized the man who entered and quickly stashed the bottle out of view.

Lord Wyldon of Cavall, training master to the pages, strode in, taking in the scene with one efficient sweep of his eyes. His sharp gaze did not miss the two figures with swords, the crumbs and napkins, or the guilty look on the boy's willful face. That was a Queenscove, it had to be.

"I doubt you have a good explanation for this, Queenscove," Lord Wyldon uttered, arms crossed forbiddingly.

Dom and Kel nearly dropped their swords in shock at his voice. "Who is that?" she whispered.

"That's the training master," he responded quietly. "A real conservative, very severe and strict on the pages."

"Well?" Wyldon demanded of Neal, who sat on his perch, mouth opening and closing fruitlessly.

"It's alright, Lord Wyldon," came a voice from beyond the open door. "I can take them back to their room."

A new man entered, a very large one with coal black hair. "That's Sir Raoul of Goldenlake," Dom hissed to Kel as he nudged her in agitation. "He's the Knight Commander of the King's Own." Kel glanced up at Dom to see the admiration shining from his eyes.

"You, Lord Raoul?" Wyldon said with a hint of rancor, as if he doubted the knight would adequately punish the recalcitrant boys.

"Of course," Raoul answered cheerfully. "Duke Baird asked me himself when he discovered their absence from their room."

Dom and Neal glanced at each other in panic. Neal in particular looked green.

Wyldon nodded stiffly. "Very well. I trust you will not lose them." He ran his eyes over them one last time and left swiftly, as if glad to be rid of the lot of them.

"Did my uncle really send you, my lord?" Dom asked fearfully.

"I'm afraid so. He came to deliver treats for you personally and was quite put out to find you missing. And who is this?" he said in interest, turning to Kel.

Kel shifted uneasily, suddenly feeling wrong-footed under the weight of the mail and the sword. "Keladry of Mindelan, my lord." She ignored Dom's raised eyebrow as he mouthed _"Keladry?"_

He gestured at the sword in her hand. "You want to learn how to fight, do you?"

"Yes my lord," she said shyly. Sir Raoul was a great knight and commander. Suddenly she had a rush of courage no doubt prompted by the tiny bit of alcohol. "I want to be a knight."

Raoul laughed loudly, his voice bouncing off the walls. "I can't wait to see Wyldon's face the day you show up, Keladry. Keep training, work hard, and don't ever lose faith in yourself." Kel nodded, eyes glinting with fervor. "And you," he said, turning to Dom, "You must be Domitan of Masbolle." She glanced at him quickly in amusement. And he had teased her about her name.

"That is correct, my lord," Dom said in a clear, if lowered, voice. In that second, he made the decision he had agonized over ever since he decided that he was not cut out for being a page. "I want to join the Own when I'm of age, in three years."

Raoul nodded approvingly. "An admirable goal, and as the son of a nobleman, I'm sure you know how to prepare. We need more good, reliable young men such as yourself." Dom swallowed deeply and didn't try to fight the grin that wanted to split his face.

"That makes you young Nealan of Queenscove," Raoul finished, looking at Neal. "Since your companions have theirs figured out, what are you going to be?"

Neal, who had taken up the bottle again and gulped it down hastily when Raoul saved them from Wyldon, could make no response against the rising tide of nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. Somehow, in his struggle to decide whether to enter the Royal University or to be a page, he had forgotten the most important factor: the training master, whom rumor claimed was the stiffest knight in Tortall and had no sense of humor whatsoever that did not include running poor pages to their near-death.

That realization, combined with the copious amount of alcohol in his system, the greasy and sugary food in his stomach, and the shock of getting caught, meant that when he opened his mouth to respond, the only thing that emerged was the contents of his recent meal.

"Neal!" said Kel, shocked.

"Neal!" said Dom, impressed.

Raoul just groaned, holding his hand to his forehead.

Neal, on his hands and knees on the ground, coughed again. He wiped his mouth with the back of a hand and grimaced. His decision was all too clear now. "I want to be a healer," he muttered.

"Of course you do," Raoul sighed. Poor unlucky bastard who had to clean up this mess. He motioned to the three children. "Scram, back to your chambers with you."

Kel bowed obediently and carefully replaced the mail on the wooden dummy, though she hesitated at returning the sword. The exercises had felt weird to her arm, but oddly fulfilling. She scrambled for the exit, but Raoul touched her arm as she went by. He reached for his belt and unclipped his belt-knife. "The first blade for the first Lady Knight in Tortall in centuries," he said, black eyes sparkling. "Consider it a Midwinter gift."

Kel, overwhelmed, could only utter a sincere "Thank you," before she blushed to the tips of her hair and fled.

Dom followed her sedately, stopping only to wish Raoul a sincere, "Midwinter blessings, my lord."

"Dom," Raoul interrupted. "When you are old enough to join, consider Third Company." He smiled at the boy. "Anyone who is chivalrous and kind enough to encourage a little girl as you did would be welcome in my Company, if his strength in arms matches the strength in his heart."

Dom went as pink as Kel as he swore his undying agreement to Lord Raoul, before fleeing the room, his heart making his feet light and soul sing.

Neal rose slowly to his feet and tottered towards the opening. Raoul bit back a too-fatherly remark about the dangerous of over-imbibing, figuring the boy had discovered out the consequences himself with a much more real and lasting effect than a lecture. "A healer, eh?"

Neal nodded miserably. "So I never had to feel like this again."

Raoul fought a grin. "An excellent ambition. I hope the next time I see you, you will be healing me, not smashed off your horse in an old guard room."

"Barrel."

"Excuse me?" Raoul raised an eyebrow.

"Smashed off my barrel, my lord," repeated Neal, gesturing weakly to his previous perch.

Raoul had the errant thought that it was just as well the boy was going to be a healer and not a page. The old stick Wyldon would probably have cut out his tongue in days, and that was if he restrained himself.

"Of course," he said to the sloshed boy, shaking his head and following the trio to ensure they didn't go on any side adventures.

* * *

The next morning, due to the imbibed alcohol, Neal forgot all about the young Kel, and he would continue in ignorance until he first saw her the day of her arrival at the palace. The fierce resolve to battle, hidden well by her new mask, evoked a memory of a pair of hazel eyes glaring at Dom before a small fist struck his cheek, leaving a bruise that would last for a week.

Dom remembered Kel vaguely, but she had slipped into the back of his mind over the years until he saw her desperately clinging onto a rearing monster of a horse. Her determination reminded him of the small girl who looked at him with steady and eager eyes as she took the sword from his grasp.

Kel would never forget her first two friends, Neal and Dom. She recalled them with pleased satisfaction as brief allies in the tumult of her unconventional childhood, their easy companionship despite their different ages and her gender, their ability to make her drop her natural reserve and simply laugh. Nor could she forget the memory of Neal falling comically or the expectation of certain doom plastered on his face at Lord Wyldon's entrance, or Dom carefully explaining to a curious girl the heraldry of an old shield of a Lady Knight long dead.

Kel wanted that distaff border. She wanted her shield more than she could ever say. The instant faith of the other new acquaintance, Lord Raoul of Goldenlake, and his generous gift made her consider that not all knights were upset at the prospect of a female joining their honored ranks.

Each of the three were special to Kel. She placed them in a compartment in her mind to never forget them, but let them roam free in her heart, for she could not stop them.

* * *

**A/N: **Posted for Ficmas Challenge on Goldenlake for domluver. Also, the shield was a shout-out to Provost Dogs. Lady Sabine of Macayhill - Macay/Makay means fire.


End file.
